Just This Moment
by sxarless
Summary: iEverything melts away, and for a moment, it’s just him and me.i


**Author's Note: **One-Shot. My first Draco/Hermione piece. My first fanfic, ever. (:

**Disclaimer:** Yes, I own Draco Malfoy. Ha. I wish I did, but no the characters belong to JK Rowling.

Just This Moment

It was only a kiss, he tells me. Just a kiss. It wasn't even a snog, was it, Granger? I don't know why you're so strung out about it. He pauses then and lets a shadow of a smirk flit across his face. Of course, being a mudblood, you've probably never been kissed properly before, so … He trails off then, obviously unsure of what to say next because of my submissive response. He's so used to my sarcastic retorts, because then, he's comfortable as to how to reply. He only knows scathing remarks; he doesn't know victory without them. In a way, he's almost like me. He works for what he gets, he _earns _it. And he takes pride in it. Now he takes a step closer to me, so that he's merely an arm's length away from me. Granger? he asks. Are you listening?

I stare right through him.

Granger … he repeats. He takes one more step and now he's too close for comfort. He waves his hand in front of my face. Earth to Granger … he snaps his hand back suddenly and his amused expression flickers as I narrow my eyes and glare at him. And then— I don't know how he does it but his expressions make the smoothest transitions. Every expression that has adorned his face flows into the smug look that garnishes his face right now. Ah, there you are, he says. He leans one arm on the wall behind me.

He's dangerously close now, and I can smell him. It's a fresh, wintry, forest smell. It's inexplicably _him_, and there is no doubt that it's one of those perfumes that the rich wear. He's the type to wear it. He always has been, and he always will.

What do you want? I snap at him. I straighten, knocking my shoulder into his arm accidently. He stares at my shoulder for a moment before his eyes meet mine again. My shoulder is still touching his arm, and there is a burning feeling there. Oh, it's burning. He stares into my eyes. That may sound romantic, but it's anything but. It's a battle, a war, and I want to win. He wants to win as badly as I do, but he's playing it off like he doesn't have to win. He thinks that I will let my guard down and he can speed on home with the prize, but no … he won't. He presses his other hand against the wall, effectively trapping me there. It's not exactly trapping, but it's close enough because I would have to duck to get out of the cage he's locked me in.

We're now standing practically nose to nose, and his gaze is burning into me. And I see him really for the first time, I see the walls he's built oh-so carefully around himself. I can see myself reflected in his eyes.

He blinks and shifts his arm so he's not touching my shoulder anymore. And I know, in that moment, that I've won. He knows it too.

I win, I whisper.

He nods imperceptibly, and he removes his right hand from the wall. His hands are a rich boy's hands—perfect, slender, nimble fingers with immaculately cut nails. Even nicer than mine—I have crooked fingers and I bite my nails.

Granger, must you be so uptight all the time? he says conversationally, matching his feet with mine. Now, I am officially trapped in. He looks down at the floor for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. He brings his gaze back to mine and smirks for the upteenth time.

Must you always be such a cocky bastard? I respond, my voice devoid of any emotion. The challenge hangs in the air, and I'm waiting, waiting for him to accept it, like all the other times he has.

Except he doesn't. And now I am at a loss of words, as he leans closer to me. His nose is now touching mine, and my breathing is irregular. Stop, I say, and I hate how my voice is breathy as if I'd just gone running. And as his eyes land on the wall behind my head yet again, I take my chance to study his face. His hair is cut so it falls into his eyes slightly—he's long since stopped using the gel. His eyes are curious shade of gray, flecked with blue and black and silver, and I've always secretly been fascinated with them. They are like molten silver, framed with those silvery-blond lashes. And his nose, his mouth are all perfectly shaped, but his chin is too pointed. He is not good-looking, but he is striking in his own way, and I can see why Pansy hangs all over him.

He all of a sudden seems a lot more cheerful, when he returns his gaze to my face.

I look at him warily.

Granger, he practically purrs. One of those perfect fingers traces my cheek. I jerk my head back because I am so surprised and my head collides with the wall. His hand automatically goes to the spot I bumped, rubbing softly as if to soothe me.

What are you doing, I snap. He gives me a calculating look and removes his hand.

Nothing, he says dismissively, and he resumes staring down his nose at me.

Stop it, I say again. All this staring is unnerving me, but I'm not about to admit it. He cocks an eyebrow at me. The game is over, I continue, shoving lightly at his shoulders. He does not budge.

But he leans in so fast, so quick that I don't see and by the time I do, it's too late—he's kissing me again, and it's not vicious like last time. It's soft, it's nice, and it's _not him._ But it is in a way. Everything melts away, and for a moment, it's just him and me. Just him and me. He's not Malfoy, and I'm not Granger. We're just two individuals sharing a moment.

But all good things have to end, and this perfect moment does. I come to my senses and shove him away. He staggers backwards and looks at me with a troubled expression.

Don't touch me, I tell him, trying to sound angry. But I'm not, the blood is still rushing in my ears, and my heart is still pounding. I'm feeling tipsy, but how can I feel tipsy if I've never been so in my life? I can feel a flush rising through me, and I force myself to wipe my mouth on the back of my hand as if I were disgusted.

He doesn't smirk at me like I thought he would. He doesn't sneer or make a haughty comment. He whispers something that I don't quite hear.

What? I ask.

He gives me a look before striding down the corridor in a flurry of black robes.

What? I say louder.

He ignores me.

What did you say! I yell at his retreating back.

He's reached the corner now, and he pauses. And I hear him repeat what he said, before he disappears around the corner.

_I thought I hated you._


End file.
